by Kyanna Skye
She looked up and down the beach again and saw no sign of any other survivors. The other passengers…?
No one but her had survived, it seemed. Survived what? She thought, her body lightly trembling. What the fuck happened? She couldn’t find the words to describe what she had seen. Part of her wanted to believe that it hadn’t happened at all. Maybe it hadn’t? Maybe she had just had too much to drink? The Gulf was famous for mixing ingredients into their drinks that the uninitiated sometimes had bad reactions to. Maybe that had something to do with it?
The idea held an odd sort of appeal to it.
She felt herself calm at the thought of it. It’s alright, she told herself. It’s alright. You had too much to drink… you got a little wild… it wasn’t real.
She was prepared to accept that idea eagerly until she attempted to straighten her clothing, though it was soaked with the tide. The brief calm she’d had vanished when she saw slashes in her clothing that looked like they could only have been made by hand-sized claws.
Her body trembled at the sight and she leaned against the rocky ledge to steady herself. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to vomit. It’s okay… it’s okay… I was soaking in the ocean when I woke up… my clothes were just torn… monsters aren’t real… they’re not real…
She stood in the shade of the cliff for several more minutes attempting to convince herself of the truth before she finally found the fortitude to stand straight on her feet. Despite the fear that iced its way up her spine she kept her back to the water and set off down the beach, all the while muttering a simple mantra.
“There’s no such thing as monsters… there’s no such thing as monsters… there’s no such thing as monsters…”
She walked along the beach for what felt like hours and miles, though it couldn’t have been more than a single hour and maybe three quarters of a mile before she found a sign of hope.
The beach that she had found herself on was empty of any signs of civilization; not even an empty beer bottle littered the perfect beach. The sea was to one side, the high cliffs on the other. And as she walked the cliff began to roll, coming lower and lower to the beach until she saw that it was populated by trees and brush, shrubs that were tropical in nature. The sounds of animals, monkeys and birds, she was guessing filled the jungle beyond.
And in the midst of that greenery, she found a path. It was not a stone path, nor was it the kind of path marked by guide ropes or metal handrails. It was little more than heavily trodden sand. But her hopes lifted when she saw the unmistakable sign of footprints in the loose granules, the imprints of heavy boots and tennis shoes both told her that people lived here.
“Thank Christ!” she gasped as she started for the path. She followed it as it wound its way through the brush, like a great snake carving its way through the jungle floor. She didn’t care where it led, only that it would take her away from the ocean and towards someone that could help to convince her that what she’d seen yesterday had only been in her mind.
As she moved on, that thought became more and more likely. Perhaps it was just some alcohol-induced fantasy that she had had. Perhaps the cruise ship she’d been on had put in? That was possible, there were to be several stops along the way, she remembered seeing it on her itinerary. Maybe they had just stopped over on one of those ports and she’d taken in too much of the local hooch and passed out on the beach? That idea too held merit, but the rents in her clothing convinced her that she would need someone else to tell her that she’d been imagining things.
She followed the sandy path until it led her to the crest of a hill. Partly out of breath she surveyed the area around her. It was not the tallest hill that she was standing on, she noted. There were others, three of them, and each a good way off. But she could tell right off that she was on an island. It was lush, filled with green, there were bright flowers that waved gently in a tropical breeze in the treetops and flocks of birds took to the air here and there before returning and settling back down in another tree.
Did I wander too far from the ship? She looked around. She could see water at her back and to her left and right, but on the far side of the hills she could not see anything. Perhaps the ship was docked there? I must have been wasted if I wandered this far, she thought reassuringly.
Her eyes brightened when they fell upon something nestled in the lowlands of the island. Sitting there, like a frame of yellow stone in a sea of emerald green, was a building. It was tall, almost like a castle, and a flag fluttered from in the middle of its wide court yard. And she could see the shapes of people moving in and about it.
A tourist spot!
Ignoring the rocks and sand under her one bare foot she rushed down the path that she was certain would lead her to that place. And she felt comfort that she would soon discover that everything she had seen – thought she had seen – was nothing more than some exotic fruit that had been in her drink, playing tricks on her.
The path stretched on for several hundred more yards before it led her to a wide gate in a tall stone wall. It looked like some kind of an old fortress, she thought. She remembered reading that these islands here in the Gulf were filled with old Spanish forts from the days of piracy on the high seas and when the Spanish Main was a constantly shifting battleground between the superpowers of Europe at the time.
She was relieved as she walked, hearing the sound of drums and flutes playing from somewhere in the compound. Her relief intensified when she saw a woman, dressed like a maid, pushing a broom around the stone floor of the compound and gently swaying her hips to the melody.
“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the woman.
The maid turned to look at her and the woman’s eyes widened with surprise. Maybe it was simply at the sight of the unkempt woman before her, but that the maid was shocked was clear.
“Hello, I’m Tristina Howe… I’m with the Gulf Paradise Cruise… uh… this is going to sound strange, but I lost my way. Can you tell me where I am?”
The maid’s eyes remained wide but she regarded her with a careful eye. It was a few moments before the woman spoke. “How did you come here?” The woman spoke with an accent, her words fractured English and tinted with something that was almost Spanish.
Tristina lightly chuckled, “Uh… I’m not entirely sure. I woke up on the beach, you see… and… I remember having a pretty stiff drink… I think I wandered here. I need to get back to the boat. Is it docked somewhere? Can you point the way for me?”
The maid’s look of incredulity kept firm and she held up a hand as if stopping her from moving at all. “Wait here… I will be back.” With that, the maid dropped her brook with a loud thump upon the stone floor and quickly scurried off as if there was a fire somewhere that needed to be put out.
“Sure…” she said, watching the maid go.
She looked around. The place looked old, certainly, but it wasn’t filled with tourists as she had thought it would be. It seemed almost deserted… almost. She saw more people walking along the parapets of the walls… more cleaning staff it looked like. There were men and women both who pushed more brooms or carried bottles filled with cleaning chemicals as they polished statues that sat on pedestals or on the old cannons that lined the battlements of the walls.
None of them seemed to pay her any regard. They’ve seen one tourist, they’ve seen them all. She saw security cameras in the corners of the courtyard and occasionally she saw men dressed like security guards walk by with pistols at their hips. These ones too paid her no mind.
“Nice place,” she said, looking around. “Real friendly people.”
“They are that,” said a voice behind her.
She turned and saw a man approaching, followed by the same maid that she had met minutes before. His hair was red and tied in a thick ponytail that reached down to the small of his back. He also wore a beard of matching color, though his eyes were of a deep blue that looked like they could have been coursing with electricity. His skin was pale, despite being i
n this region of the world, and he wore a robe that made her think that this man could have been a younger version of Hugh Hefner.
Underneath that robe she could sense that there wasn’t an overabundance of muscle, but he was still broad shouldered and well made by the look of him. Oddly enough, as he drew closer, she thought she saw a strange pattern across his bare skin. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, like seeing cracks in glass when light hit it at just the right angle. But there had seemed to be… something across his face. And in all of a moment it was gone.
“Everyone here is quite polite,” said the redheaded man. “They only become unpleasant if I tell them to.” He stopped at arm’s length from her and extended a hand. “Luke Silva. I own this island. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
He owns this island? Tristina shook her head, coming out of a daze that she wasn’t aware she had been in. “Uh… sorry… Tristina Howe… most people just call me Tris.” She shook his hand and felt he had strong grip.
“Tris,” the man, Luke apparently, said experimentally. “I like that. Welcome to my home.” He looked her over. “Oh, but your poor thing! You’re clothes are in tatters! And I can smell the sea on you. How did you come to be this way?”
Tris became aware of her disheveled appearance and withdrew her hand from that of her host and absentmindedly tried to straighten her attire out. “Uh… that’s an interesting story… you’d laugh if you heard it.”
Luke smiled at her. “Then I look forward to your tale. I enjoy a good laugh. But over something to eat and possibly something to drink, I think.” He turned back to his maid and spoke to her in Spanish, though Tris didn’t understand a word of it. The maid gave an affirming nod and gathering up her broom she trotted off for unseen places. “My staff will prepare us something to eat… you’re just in time for lunch. They’ll also find you some replacement clothing.”
Tris again attempted to straighten her semi-ruined clothing and found herself blushing. “Thank you… you’re very kind.”
Luke showed her to a private room where she was able to take a hot shower and wash away the smell of the ocean from her body and she felt restored to a sense of normalcy for it. Afterwards she looked at herself in the full length mirror that came with the bathroom.
Her body was not slim, nor was it what she considered to be fat. She was big boned, sure, but altogether not too terrible to look at she thought. Her breasts were large and full, her hips were just about the right width, and sure she could stand to lose a few pounds here and there, but she had never seen the need.
She liked herself as she was.
Her hair, now without sand or sea salt in it, took on its usual shade of jet black. Her eyes, without the red in them, more clearly showed their normal shade of brown. Her skin looked lightly sun burnt, but apart from that she didn’t appear to have any injuries to speak of. Certainly there was no sign that she had been attacked by creatures from under the sea.
I was just dreaming… She had said it to herself over and over again. And as easy as it would have been to believe it, something kept tugging at her mind to not give into the lie she was trying to feed herself.
I’ll talk to Mr. Silva and tell him what happened and when he’s done laughing he’ll just tell me that I had some drug-induced dream or something. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help me get back to the cruise ship.
When she exited the shower she found that a fresh change of clothes was waiting for her on the bed, spread out like a display. A rather fine red dress, covered in a flowered pattern, along with a replacement bra and panties, and a new pair of sandals to go with it. There were also a few hair clips that she used to control her scalp and a comb that she put to work to get her hair back in order.
When she finished changing she felt refreshed and more like a person again. And then her eyes fell upon a small note that had been left with the offered attire and when she read it a small smile touched her face, making her feel relaxed.
Lunch in the courtyard. Whenever you’re ready. Bring your appetite.
- Luke
Relaxed, happy, and feeling the pain of hunger in her belly she quickly left her room and retraced her steps back down to the court yard she had entered from. When she arrived there she found it transformed into something else entirely.
In the center of the stone yard a large tent had been erected, big enough to cover a quarter of the square space. Underneath it was a table, large enough to seat four people and covered in an elegant white cloth. Sitting on top of it was the kind of finery that she had only ever seen people use in movies. There were plates of silver and the utensils were made of the same material, each gleamed as brightly as a mirror. Surrounding the place settings were trays groaning with food and she could smell them all as she approached.
There was cooked pork, something that looked and smelled like pheasant, and cooked vegetables that she wasn’t able to readily identify. They had to be something native to the region, she guessed, but they smelled good. There were bowls laden with fruit, and a pitcher of something that looked like wine just sitting and waiting for her.
Sitting at the table was Luke and he smiled and stood as she approached. “Ah, Ms. Howe,” he said warmly as she found a seat opposite him. “I’m glad to see you restored. Feeling better, I hope?”
“Much better, thank you, and please call me Tris,” she said with a thankful smile. “But really, Mr. Silva… this wasn’t necessary,” she said, gesturing to the dress that she wore.
“Oh, not at all, not at all,” he said with a chuckle. “And please, in light of our informality, call me Luke.” When he smiled, Tris felt a tingle down her back that reminded her of excitement. “It was clear you’ve been through an ordeal. The least that I can do is offer you some comfort.” He showed her into her chair. “Please, sit. Dig right in. No need to be polite.”
“Thank you,” she said, getting into her chair. Luke rounded the table and sat opposite her. As he sat, she noticed that there was a third, fourth, and fifth place setting waiting at the table.
“Are we expecting someone else?” she asked politely, picking up some fruit.
“My wife,” Luke said with a grin, “and my two sons… if they ever conclude their business at the docks quickly enough.”
Tris felt her heart plummet at the word. “Your… wife?” she asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. “And your sons?”
Luke nodded as he poured her a glass of wine. “Simone, her name is. And my sons are Jacob and Jon. They tend to all of my business at the docks on the far side of the island,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the hills she had seen on her trek down. “They may return in time to join us… I had the staff prepare a setting for them just in case.”
“I see,” she said, taking the wine he offered and taking a mouthful. She commenced right away with setting herself a plate while Luke poured her a glass of the wine and then began preparing a plate for himself.
After a few minutes of allowing her to eat quietly, Luke smiled at her. “Now, my dear, tell me about your experience. How did you come to be on my island? I’m positive you didn’t arrive with the last supply ship, or else my staff would have told me. And my home is not a tourist attraction. That narrows down how you came here at all, I think.”
She paused from her meal just long enough to think that what she had gone through sounded so ridiculous that she had begun to believe that it was some drunken fantasy herself. And Luke had shown her more kindness than she had expected, so there was no reason not to entertain him with the story of what she saw while she must have been more than a little drunk.
“Well… it is kind of a long story.”
“I assure you, we’ll have plenty of time,” Luke said, saluting her with his wine glass and sipping from it. “But the whole of it is not necessary. Why not just start with how you wound up in the ocean and came here?”
She nodded. “Alright, well… I’ve been saving up for the last five years to go on a luxury cru
ise,” she started simply. She blushed a little, “I’ve been wanting to have an adventure for a long time. And when I finally had enough saved to afford a three-week trip on the Gulf Paradise Cruise, I took it.”
Luke nodded. “I’m familiar with the cruise line… very pricey. But we’re nowhere near any of their stops,” he said confusedly. “So how did you get here?”
Tris thought that to be strange but then a logical explanation presented itself, though a small chill went down her back just the same. “Well, I was aboard one of their sightseeing boats. We went out… I don’t know how far… but the ship was out of sight before we stopped… We were out watching the dolphins…”
“Ah, yes,” Luke said familiarly. “I know of the place where they often take people to do so. Please, continue.”
She paused, having reached the point in her story where things became bizarre. “Well… I bought a drink and… you’re just going to think that this is silly.”
“I assure you, I’ll think nothing of the kind,” her host said confidently. “Likely I’ll have heard something far stranger. Especially for being in this part of the world as we are.”
She could tell that he wasn’t just being polite. His words rang with a tinge of truth to them, like he heard strange stories all the time over breakfast. Convinced that he wouldn’t laugh at her she went on with the story as best as she remembered it. She spared no details and regaled her experience in all of its terror and gore, ending with her falling overboard and swimming before waking up on the beach of his island.
When she was done she expected him to grow a wide grin and laugh at her as though she had told some tremendously marvelous joke. But he did nothing of the kind. He merely sat with his fingers pressed together in a steeple as he looked at her. His look was contemplative for a moment before he spoke.
“What was it that you drank?”
She was surprised by the question. “Excuse me?”
